Day 1504

Allie bustled into the Garage, a bag from the bookstore under her arm.

I looked up and saw what she was holding. "Is that what I think it is?" I squealed.

With a giggle, Allie nodded. "It is. It's the book. It's Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone."

"I can't believe how long we had to wait for the next book. Diana Gabaldon is seriously trying to torture us. We've waited so long for this latest book in the Outlander series." I told her.

"I know," she agreed. Allie took my copy out of the bag and placed it carefully on my desk. I ran my hand over the cover, shivering with anticipation. "I should be going. You have work, I took the afternoon off to get started reading."

"It is slow around here…" I had an idea how to pass the afternoon. "Hey, Walter," I called, "do you have anything pressing that you need me to work on today?"

I could see that he was at the whiteboard deep into some complex algorithm, Walter's voice sounded distracted when he answered, "Hmmmm?"

"Do you mind if I take the rest of the afternoon off, it's slow today and the paperwork is caught up."

"Yes, of course, Paige. No problem. Take the afternoon. I'll pick up Megan from the babysitter's at the usual time and even swing by and grab dinner from Kovelsky's. I'll see you at home in a few hours." Walter's attention turned back to the whiteboard and I doubted he had any further thoughts of me for quite some time.

"Your place or mine?" I giggled as Allie picked my copy of the book off of the desk and handed it to me.

"How about mine, it's closer," Allie suggested.

"Perfect," I picked up my purse and we exited the Garage together.

I really don't know why anything about Walter O'Brien surprises me anymore. I got home from Allie's place a few hours later, and the house was dark and silent. No Megan or Walter or Ralph anywhere. No takeout bags from Kovelsky's. I decided not to panic just yet. His car was in the garage.

"Walter?" I called out.

He didn't answer, but out of nowhere, I heard the soft sound of an ethereal song being played on Scottish bagpipes. Don't even ask me how I know the difference, I'm married to an Irish genius, need I go on? I followed the music and saw a dim light flickering under the door to our bedroom.

"Walter?" I called again, my voice a bit louder.

"In here, Mo Nighean Donn"

I heard Walter's voice with a decidedly terrible Highland accent. I covered my mouth to smother a smile. What is going on here?

I opened the door to see candles burning on every horizontal surface and the bed was strewn with purple heather. The bagpipe music had switched to something soft and romantic played on a Celtic harp.

Apparently, Walter wasn't quite as far down the rabbit hole earlier as I had previously believed.

"Paige," I heard Walter's voice call to me, still speaking with a Scottish accent. My eyes finally landed on my favorite genius, standing deep in the shadows of the room clad in nothing but a Fraser kilt.

"Walter," I asked, "what is all this?"

Continuing with his deep Scottish brogue, Walter replied. "I overheard you and Allie talking about this book and this character, Jamie," his lips twisted a bit as he spoke the name, likely the word interloper was the word he wanted to use. "So I thought you might enjoy a bit of Highland romance. I did some research. Apparently, he is quite popular with women, even 21st-century women."

"Like me and Allie?"

Walter nodded.

"Well he is, and we do like him."

Walter made a sound of irritation in the back of his throat, "I see," the Scottish accent was gone.

"But now you're worried that I might like him better than I like you. And him being a Highlander doesn't endear him to you much either."

Walter nodded slowly. "This was meant to be fun, a romantic surprise, a way to show you that I love you in a way that a human would. But instead, my low EQ genius brain got all worked up and now I've ruined your romantic night that I put so much effort into."

I kissed Walter softly on the lips and took one of his hands in both of mine. "I'm not a genius, but I am going to tell you only facts. The fact is, he doesn't hold a candle to you, A chuisle mo chroí."

At my words, Walter's expression lightened. "I didn't think you were paying attention when I was teaching you correct Gaelic."

"Irish Gaelic, you mean?"

"What other meaning would there be?" Walter's eyes lit up and he smiled like a child on Christmas morning.

"Now that we have that straightened out, let's get rid of all this Scottish rubbish."

"Allow me," Walter swept the flowers from the bedspread to the floor, "looks better already."

I nodded my agreement as I switched off the Scottish harp music.

He pulled me into his arms and whispered "I love you, Paige, my love," as he trailed kisses down my neck. I shivered with pleasure as my hands found the waist of his kilt, hoping he had decided to follow tradition and wear nothing underneath.

"There is one thing bothering me though, something I still need to take care of," I told him.

He pulled back, his worried gaze searching my face, "What… what is it?"

"You've got to lose this Scottish kilt," I pulled the fabric off his body and tossed it into the corner.

Walter sighed in pleasure at being relieved of a Highland plaid, "Much better." He resumed kissing his way down my neck. "But you, my love, are wearing entirely too many clothes."

"I couldn't agree more," I replied as he began swiftly correcting the problem.

Once all my clothes were strewn around the floor, he pulled on top of him as he lay down on the bed.

As I gave myself over to the pleasure Walter's hands and mouth were working on me one last thought crossed my mind: Highlanders, ugh, what does any women see in them? I have no idea.

Author's Note:

Dear Reader: Please forgive Walter and Paige's less-than-complimentary words about Scots, Scotlands, Highlanders, and The Outlander series. It all comes from a place of jealousy and immaturity that I was trying to highlight in the story. While I am not a Highlander myself, I am a proud descendant of Clan Gordon.

Diana Gabaldon is the author of the very popular Outlander series of books about a time-traveling World War II nurse, named Claire, and the 18th-century Highlander, named Jamie Fraser, whom she meets and falls in love with.

In the books, Jamie calls Claire Mo Nighean Donn, which means "my brown-haired lass"

The internet told me that A chuisle mo chroí is an Irish term of endearment that means "my heart's beloved"